


Storge

by TheRedWave



Series: Variations on a Theme; Lumione [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Implied Relationships, Mental Health Issues, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWave/pseuds/TheRedWave
Summary: Lucius and Narcissa adore Draco. Then along comes Hermione.





	Storge

The cafe looked shabby. It was perilously overcrowded, and its reputation left much to be desired. Someone had neglected its small fire so badly that the room was hazy with smoke, making it uncomfortable to breathe, and harder still to see clearly.

Lucius very much doubted that any Malfoy, at any time in their illustrious history, had ever stepped foot in an establishment such as this. But it was precisely because it was so profoundly lacking in every luxury their family had grown accustomed to, that it seemed just the thing to snap Draco out of his fugue. Despite its many deficiencies, the cafe was warm, bustling, and above all, noisy.

Narcissa had outdone herself, but Lucius supposed that was to be expected.

A group of a dozen or so children had crowded their tables together to form an impromptu Exploding Snap tournament. They laughed with the reckless, ignorant joy of the very young. In a secluded corner, a trio of witches were engaged in a heated, but good natured, argument. One of them bore the scars of lycanthropy on her face. A shiver of disgust ran all over him, but still he waved for Narcissa and Draco to follow him in. Narcissa silently raised a handkerchief to her mouth.

He hailed a young serving witch. The glare she levelled at him would have provoked him into all sorts of venomous diatribes, once. Now he was simply grateful when she finally deigned to notice him and led his family to a table near the window. Lucius pulled out Narcissa’s seat for her with a twitch of his fingers, and they all sat down together; he on one side of the table, and Narcissa and Draco on the other, mercifully facing the street.

“Well, this is-” Narcissa gave the table a subtle wipe with a gloved finger, “Quite charming.”

Draco made a noncommittal grunt, and they ordered. If his sons spirits had risen at all, he could see no sign of it. His eyes were dull and downcast. His shoulders hunched in as if someone was raining blows down upon him. It was far from the resounding success that Lucius had been hoping for.

Eventually, the food came. Something called a ‘burger’ for Draco. Bowls of steaming stew and hunks of bread for himself and Narcissa. It could not have been more different than the elaborate, delicate fare of the Manor. Still, it was delicious.

Narcissa drew Draco into a consistent, albeit monosyllabic, conversation. Lucius barely followed it. Instead he kept a watchful eye on their fellow patrons. The coven of witches in the corner were staring. It was obvious that they were trying to be sure of who they were, but the pervasive smoke made them uncertain. So far, they were the only ones. Everyone else was too busy enjoying themselves to pay the Malfoy family any mind.

Narcissa’s voice took on a hysterical edge as it became clearer and clearer that Draco had no intentions of finishing his meal. No more than he had finished any meal for the past week.

Looking at him, so brittle and hopeless, Lucius could no longer tell himself that the problem was not serious. He fought the urge to scream at Draco, to beg him to finish his food. To stop punishing himself for a choice he never would have made, if his father had not thrown himself behind the Dark Lord’s cause willingly.

 _I’m sorry, Draco._ Lucius forced the hateful words out. _I’m sorry to have failed you so badly._ “Muggle dish, isn’t it?” He tried for a smirk. “Muggle food, in Diagon Alley. I never thought I would see the day!”

Draco's hand actually clenched into a fist, and for a moment Lucius thought that his son would leap up and strike him. But then he sat up straight and, with sullen determination, cleared his plate.

Narcissa sent him a grateful look, and she took Draco’s clenched hand in hers and spoke softly to him. Draco ignored him resolutely, but it did not matter. He had done something to help his son.

It was a terrible thing, to know that the only kind of example he could provide was the kind of man he shouldn’t be, but it was his own fault. He had exhausted Draco’s faith and trust in him a long time ago.

Snapping him out of his reverie, Draco said incredulously, “Hermione Granger just went into Hornsby’s shop.”

Narcissa and Lucius shared a doubtful look. “I don’t think so, son.” Lucius said.

Draco gave no sign that he had heard him. “It _was_ her.”

“Perhaps she is investigating the place for her auror friends.” Narcissa observed. “We’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow, I’m sure.” She turned back to her meal, assuming the conversation was over.

But Draco was not so easily put off. “If the aurors sent her, she’d be under Polyjuice.” Draco gnawed at his lip. “She wouldn’t be, you know, about to-” He waved his hand over his head. “Would she?”

Lucius forced a chuckle. “Hermione Granger would do no such thing.”

But what Draco said had implanted the seed of doubt into his mind. The boy had a point. The Ministry as it stood was little more than a collection of squabbling children, as far as he was concerned, but they were not _that_ stupid. They would not use one of the most recognisable figures in all of wizardry in a reconnaissance operation.

And if Hermione Granger was not going into Hornsby’s shop at the behest of the law, then really, that only left one other explanation.

Hermione Granger was going to the Obliviator for personal reasons.

Could it be? The idea did not sit well with him. It bothered him for reasons he could not define.

Draco clearly shared his misgivings. He stood on shaking legs and went after her.

“Draco!” Narcissa cried, “Come back here at once!”

“Narcissa, lower your-” Lucius hissed, but it was too late.

The room snapped into silence.

Every face turned to them in recognition. Their expressions were every variation of horror, disgust, and fury imaginable.

For a long moment, time stood still. Lucius had forgotten how to breathe. Suddenly, he was not a wizard, he was not even a man. His body screamed at him that if only he could stay very still, everyone would simply forget that they had seen him.

And then, with a glacial inevitability, the lycanthrope stood up.

Lucius did not take his eyes from her. He could not. He blindly fumbled for Narcissa’s hand (and how hard even that was; like moving his hand through treacle!) and felt unthinking gratitude wash over him as her slender fingers clasped his.

Somehow, he managed it. He apparated them both into the empty street.

* * *

The distance could not have been more than fifty feet, but it took so much of his strength that Narcissa had to pull him bodily through the door and into the shop.

They staggered into a windowless room narrow enough that he could have reached out and brushed the walls at either side of him with his finger tips. There was no furniture or ornamentation, save for a few chairs and a writing desk. Orbs of light hung high up in the air; the sole source of illumination. Their chilly, artificial light reminded him of that dreadful night in the Department of Mysteries.

His stomach churned violently and his legs shook in protest of his desperate magic, but after a few breaths he recovered himself enough to discreetly scrutinise Narcissa. She seemed a little shaken, perhaps, but she had not a hair out of place. He had not splinched her, praise Merlin!

It was a small miracle, he knew. He had not attempted apparition of any kind since Azkaban.

In the room stood a little man who could have been sixty years old, or a hundred. He wore a neat, muggle suit. If he was startled to see them, it did not show upon his face.

Beside him stood Draco and Hermione Granger. Hermione could not have been a sharper contrast to his son. She radiated fortitude. She wore muggle clothes, as the older man did, and her face set grimly to see them enter, as if she perhaps expected a fight.

So. Draco had not been mistaken. His stomach sank even further at the confirmation.

“Welcome, Lord and Lady Malfoy.” The little man said dryly. “My little shop is entirely unprepared for such noble guests.”

After a moment of silence from her husband, Narcissa murmured some nicety, for which he was thankful.

The Obliviator frowned as he looked Lucius over brazenly. “Are you ill, Lord Malfoy? Shall I call a Healer?”

Concern flashed over Draco’s face.

“No, thank you.” Lucius gritted out. It was only his dignity, and his cane, that saved him from collapsing into one of the chairs.

“Your esteemed son here,” The Obliviator spared Draco a look, and Lucius watched him take inventory of Draco; every little marker of how unwell his son was, “Was just about interrupt a very important discussion. I’m afraid I will have to ask you all to leave. Ms Granger is entitled to her privacy.”

“My decision is final, anyway.” Hermione spoke, and lifted her chin proudly. “And if you want to speak to Mr Hornsby, you’ll have to make your own appointment.”

“Is it true, Hermione? Are you here to erase yourself?” Draco focussed every bit of his attention on the muggleborn witch.

Lucius was in awe of him. He could barely take care of himself, but his son still wanted to protect others. Where had he learned that courage from? Surely not from him.

“That’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

“You can’t.” Draco said weakly. “You can’t just-”

“I can, Draco.” She said it with a kindness Lucius had not expected. “I’ve had enough. I’ll be going. Today, in fact.”

Lucius was keenly aware that he was staring at her, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Hermione Granger, Obliviate herself? If word got out that even the famous Hermione Granger had chosen to flee her memories of the war, he could well imagine what effect that would have on the wizarding world. Their state was fragile enough as it was.

But he had reason to believe that she was a logical woman. She was the sort who might listen to reason.

“Ms Granger.” He began delicately. Her brown eyes, so serious for one so young, settled on him. “You have seen the worst of us. But think about all you will be giving up. What about your family? Your friends? They would miss you terribly.”

“My family have already had the magic done. They think I’m coming back from a year in Italy. It will be like I never got my Hogwarts letter.”

 _What an astonishing thing._ He had spoken to her, had questioned her, and she had not become angry.

Encouraged, he pressed on. “Your gifts, then. Surely you could not so easily lose them?” This, he thought, would be a convincing argument. Hermione’s love for magic was well known.

But she did not so much as blink. “What will I be losing, exactly? Can you guarantee that another Voldemort won’t rise up and accuse me of stealing my magic from purebloods? How do I know that I won’t have to wipe my parents memories again, so they won’t be tortured to death because of what I am?”

The room went painfully quiet, and he found he could not answer her.

“Harry and Ron… they understand. And actually, I don’t mind if you stay for it.” She smiled bravely at Draco. “I’ll be going back home, that’s all.”

It struck him as a terrible waste, a tragedy, even. Hermione Granger, live as a muggle? Once he would have relished the idea, but with their numbers so reduced, and with her talent so undeniable… But her mind was made up, and he had tried.

He turned to Hornsby. “And how much do you charge for this… public service?” Lucius asked sardonically.

Without even the merest hint of shame, the Obliviator said, “Five thousand galleons.”

Lucius Malfoy laughed. The sound of it surprised even himself.

In the corner of his eye, Lucius saw Draco gently take his mother aside, but the sound of his laughter drowned them out.

The situation no longer seemed funny, and suddenly he was livid. “Five thousand-! To steal away our best and brightest, and make them forget their own birthrights!” He did not see the startled look on Hermione’s face. “It’s despicable. I have half a mind to call the aurors.”

The Obliviator shrugged. “Go ahead. What exactly will you charge me with? This shop, and its services, are perfectly legal. My clients are of age and come to me of their own free will. I don’t even advertise. As for the cost, what of it? It is a small price to pay for peace of mind and I assure you, I am the only Wizard in the world who can do it.” The Obliviator gave a self effacing little chuckle. “It’s all rather brilliant, actually.”

At this little proclamation, Lucius was too outraged to make a reply.

“Father.”

“Yes, Draco?” He said absentmindedly. He was not really paying attention. The sheer gall of it!

“I think-” Draco licked his lips, building up to something. “Maybe I should go.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He wanted to wish Hermione good luck, but under the circumstances, it did not seem appropriate. “Come, Draco, Narcissa. It’s high time we returned to the Manor.”

“No, father. I want to go where she’s going.” His voice was shaking, but full of conviction, for all that.

For a shamefully long time, Lucius did not understand. Then it crashed down on him.

No. _No._ Anything but that. He would not allow it.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Lucius was rather proud of how calmly he said it. “Take my hand, son, and we’ll all go home.” The dangers of two sidelong apparitions in one day were inconsequential compared to this.

Leaving the Manor had been a dreadful mistake, he saw that now. Draco had become… overstimulated. Seeing Hermione here, the Obliviator, even the excitement of the cafe, it had been too much, too soon for his fragile son.

Draco shook his head. “You don’t get it. You _never_ listen to me.”

Lucius hid a little cringe. “We can discuss this at home, Draco. In private.” Hermione at least had the decency to pretend to examine the walls around her, but the Obliviator was openly staring.

“No, father. We’re talking about it now. I need to do this.” His face twisted in anguish. “I killed Dumbledore.”

Narcissa knew where this was going as much as he did. They had heard it countless times before, after all. She hastened to ease him, “You did no such thing. Severus-”

“Cast the spell, after I let the Death Eaters in. I did that. Kids, little kids, were tortured because I let them in. Everyone who died at Hogwarts died because of me.”

His heart was being torn to shreds as he listened. “Draco, you mustn’t blame yourself-”

“Yeah, you’re good at dodging responsibility, aren’t you? Well I know what I did, and I can’t keep living with it. I knew what would happen and I did it anyway, because I’m a coward.”

He didn’t know the words to say. He wanted very badly to hold him, as he had sometimes done when Draco was young and afraid, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt too exposed, too vulnerable, in front of these others.

So instead he simply said, “Draco, you are _not_ a coward.”

Draco looked at his feet, and said nothing.

His temper would do him no good here, and he knew it. Preparation, that was the thing. More than anything, he needed a clear strategy to nip this in the bud, and for that he needed Narcissa. She had always known best how to sway Draco, and they would have to be united.

“Your mother and I need a moment to discuss this…”, he arranged his face carefully into a smile, “Proposition of yours, son.”

He nearly took Narcissa out of the shop altogether, and then he remembered the lycanthrope and the rest of the cafe patrons. They might very well be searching for them. They might even be outside the door at this very moment. He froze in his tracks.

The Obliviator saw his reluctance to go into the street, and pointed to a door hidden in the gloom. “There is a back room. I wouldn’t think about looking through the cabinets, if I were you. They contain my client’s personal information and are thoroughly hexed.”

Lucius did not deign to answer him, and led Narcissa into the back room.

“This is madness.” Lucius hissed to her the moment they were alone. “Give up the Malfoy name and live as muggles? What is that boy thinking?”

But Narcissa was not really paying him any attention. She stood half turned in the direction of the shop floor, lips pursed in thought.

He railed on. “And that Granger woman! To put this idea into his head!” He felt himself careening into a rage, and took a few deep breaths. “Never mind her. We are his parents. We can talk some sense into him. Perhaps some time abroad will-”

“Listen, Lucius.” Narcissa’s eyes softened with love. “Draco has made a friend.”

The sound of Draco and Hermione talking floated into the room. She was describing something called a _cinema_ to him. Draco laughed in disbelief at every word. Lucius’ breath hitched in his throat. When had Draco last sounded so young? So carefree?

Narcissa smiled tenderly at the sound. A sinking feeling came over him.

“He will have quite forgotten it in a month.” He said weakly. “We must only stand firm.”

Narcissa said nothing further, but a determined cast came to her face as they rejoined the others, and his concern hardened into dread.

Still, he would fight it. He saw with complete clarity that Granger was the head of this particular snake. He had only to tear her reasoning down, and the whole thing would fall apart, and his son would be his again.

But Granger, it seemed, had a counter for all his arguments. It would have been so much easier if she had been hysterical, distraught, the sort of person the Obliviator could easily have taken advantage of. But even in this, her iron will and powerful intellect had guided her. She had said farewells to every conceivable person and settled all her affairs. She had arranged everything from living accommodations to a new passport. She had meticulously researched a variety of social clubs to join so that she could go about the business of making new friends from almost the moment she awoke. She even had a job waiting for her.

More than anything, she was certain. Conviction and brains were a lethal combination, and in the end he found he was powerless to sway her.

The Obliviator patiently watched as Lucius lost that battle. He was not stupid. He assured them that, for a price, similar preparations could be made for Draco. University qualifications, years of experience and specialised knowledge, even connections in high society; all could be fabricated to ensure Dracos’ success in the new world. He would have to change his name, of course, as too many reminders of his former life could, in time, weaken the web of forgetfulness woven about his mind.

And there, Lucius tasted hope that this entire disaster could be averted. “What about his magic, hm?” he asked with just a trace of smugness. “You can take his memory, but Draco is still a wizard. Would it not be dangerous, irresponsible, even, to let him loose amongst muggles with no idea how to control his gifts?”

To this, the Obliviator shook his head. “I am a professional, Lord Malfoy. If you doubt me; read the papers. Have you heard of any of my clients unleashing mayhem in the muggle world? No? Then you know the magic works. And it will continue to work, providing my instructions are adhered to. You have my word; even if Draco saw magic performed right in front of him, his mind would steer him away from understanding it.”

In the end, what made his decision for him was not Granger’s arguments, nor the careful assurances of the Obliviator. It was the casual, indifferent way that Draco turned to him and said, “You can have the Malfoy name, or you can have me. You can’t have both. I’m going. Stay here or come with us. It’s up to you.”

His blood ran cold at the finality of it. “And how do you plan to go, hm?”

Draco squared his shoulders. “With my money.”

At that moment, an idea stirred in the coils of Lucius’ mind.

If Draco was judged to be unsound (and attempting to contract the services of the Obliviator could be construed as the behaviour of an unsound man) then his accounts could be frozen. This was a new world, after all, and public safety was of paramount importance. With the right lawyers, with the right Inquisitors, it could be managed. Then Draco would have no choice but to stay and make peace with himself. He would have no choice but to be a Malfoy.

Lucius could even convince himself that it would be for Draco’s benefit. He deserved better than to live a life without his magic. Even if it meant living with what he had done.

Narcissa had been married to him for a long time, and her thoughts ran in a similar vein to his. She met his eyes with a look that simply said, _try it, Lucius, and I’ll fight you every step of the way._

Besides, he knew what the cost of such a ploy would be, and he was not willing to pay it. Lucius still harboured hopes that Draco would love him again, one day.

Mercifully, Draco had not seen what Narcissa had seen. He only looked at him with eyes filled with hope and fear. He had failed Draco for so long. But still, his son asked him to come with them. It was more than he deserved. Even though they did not need him. His son still wanted him to join them.

Narcissa gave him a little nod, and the Granger woman watched him expectantly.

Lucius realised then that all the withheld inheritances and paternalistic control in the world would not budge his son one inch. Draco would put himself first and leave him here. He could almost admire how self-serving it all was.

He knew what was expected of him. He tried to form the words in his mouth. Tried to seize control of his family before they destroyed themselves. But the image of walking the corridors of the Manor alone and separated from everyone who had ever cared about him was at the forefront of his mind, and he found he could not do it.

Cut off from the love of his son, he would wither and die. Survival (and love) warred with duty in his mind. It was not a fair contest.

“If the decision has been made, I suppose.” His legs were shaking. He was ruining himself. He was throwing everything away. The struggles and machinations of generations of Malfoys; all for nothing. Still, he said it. “I will accompany you.”

Draco seemed doubtful, but Narcissa was visibly relieved.

“You will have to wait.” The Obliviator said firmly. “I won’t do this today, not for the three of you. There will be a great deal to arrange, and I always allow my clients time to think things through.” He dismissed the Malfoy family with a wave of his hand. “You, of course,” He turned to Hermione with a smile. “May go at any time.”

He could see her weighing up the immense decision. Her eyes flickered to Draco, and then to Lucius, and then back to the Obliviator. “If we’re all going, I suppose we could all go together. Could you do it?”

The Obliviator shrugged. “Certainly. For a reasonable fee, I could even weave your memories together, if you like. The three Malfoys as a family, under a different name, I expect,” Lucius’ mind filled with a desperate screaming at this callous aside, “And Ms Granger as a… school friend of Draco’s, perhaps?”

Hermione nodded resolutely.

“What do you think, Draco?” Narcissa asked. “Does that sound nice?”

Draco’s answering smile lit up his world.

* * *

  
  
Once the decision had been made, he felt it was best to get it over with. The very next morning, Lucius held a meeting with all his senior lawyers and accountants to inform them of his decision.

The meeting was a catastrophe. When his patience with their histrionics had reached its limit, Lucius fired them all and had them summarily removed from the premises. In his arrogance, he had thought that would be the end of it.

He had not counted on the keen hearing and love of gossip of the Manor’s portraits.

Within minutes of the meetings explosive end, every room in the house reverberated with the outraged howls and screams of Malfoys long dead. No amount of pleading or reasoning would calm them. He even tried to use plain and simple intimidation to silence them, but they knew that his threats were simply that; threats. Lucius would never raise a hand against any of the family portraits, not for any reason.

His father and grandfather were particularly apoplectic with rage, and hounded him from one end of the Manor to the other to voice their disgust and hate of him.

His mother was the worst of them all. She floated from portrait to portrait, crying and reaching out for him. He moved through the house with his eyes averted. The sight of her grief only worsened the crushing weight of the guilt.

* * *

  
  
The House Elf who had given him the news looked every bit as baffled as Lucius felt.

There had been no letter, no warning. Hermione Granger had simply… arrived.

After a brief, shocked silence, Lucius went out to meet her, striding out into the cold with every intention of sending her away.

She stood just outside the main gate, wrapped in a dozen layers. Her little upturned nose stuck out from behind a thick woolen scarf.

“Ms Granger.” He said it as courteously as he could.

_Why are you here?_

Why, in Merlin’s name, would the witch come here willingly? He’d known that they would meet again when the Obliviator was ready for them. Further than that, he had expected to see no more of her.

The young witch seemed deeply conflicted. Her eyes were constantly drawn to the Manor behind him, but she could not look at it directly, so instead she turned to him.

Hermione took a deep breath, and Lucius saw that he was about to hear one of her famous rambling speeches. “I thought that since you all know practically nothing about the Muggle world, and I have so much experience, maybe it would be a good idea for me to tell you all about it? I thought we could go over social norms first, then economy, then-”

“Whatever for?” Lucius heard himself speaking over her. His voice had no spirit in it. “None of us will remember any of it.”

Apparently, her incredible mind had skipped over that minor detail. She opened and closed her mouth several times before finally giving up. But she did not move away from the gate, and he did not ask her to leave.

He realised that he did not want to send her away. Not now that he had seen her. All he felt was a vague urge to prolong this moment, and let things develop as they would.

They had been courteous to one another in the Obliviator’s shop. But they had not been alone then. Surely now she would say something rude, or he might insult her, and they might resume the business of hating one another. It seemed to him that even that might be better than this state of ignorance.

Lucius heard feminine footsteps emerging from the house. Heeled boots on gravel.

“What a delightful notion, Ms Granger!” Narcissa trilled from behind him, breaking the tension and shattering the strange privacy that had existed between them.

She opened the gate with a swish of her wand. Lucius let it pass. He would not humiliate her by superseding her authority.

The barest crease of a frown marred Narcissa’s forehead as she took in Hermione’s appearance. She turned to her House Elf, who stood shivering behind her. “Ninny, warm up the fires in the library and inform Draco that Ms Granger will be joining us for the evening.”

Narcissa led Hermione to their awful, screaming house. Lucius followed, feeling as though the world had been snatched from under him.

* * *

Having Hermione Granger as an honoured guest was beyond bizarre. He did not despise her as he once had, but the mere sight of her in his house dredged up all of his regrets and his guilt.

Apparently, Draco and Narcissa did not suffer the same affliction. In fact, after a very short while, they seemed to get along famously. For the whole of the first day, he did not step foot in the library.

The sound of the three of them laughing and arguing with each other while he floated through the house alone made him keenly, intolerably lonely, and he put up only a token show of resistance when the muggle-born witch finally confronted him and pulled him into their little seminars on the muggle world.

He found her to be intelligent, opinionated, charming. More than a little insufferable. Everything that his previous encounters with her had already suggested. Above all else, she was desperately unhappy. Not in the way that Draco was, or even in the way that he himself was, but in some way that was uniquely hers.

His thoughts grew increasingly fixed on her. It was clear that something must have happened to make her consider this drastic abandonment of reality. He was sorely tempted to ask her what it was, but it wasn’t in his nature to ask personal questions of near-strangers. It simply was not his business. So the question was left unasked, and she never volunteered any information.

And as for her mad plan, he came to at least understand the appeal it held for Draco. There was a certain reckless charm to it all. Draco could forget not only all the terrible things he had done, but everything he had suffered as well.

Lucius understood that all too well. How sweet it might be to wake up and not remember Azkaban! Not to remember the year the Dark Lord had lived under his roof.

And all it would cost them was five thousand galleons apiece, and their souls. Lucius had never been a moral man, nor a philosophical one, but even he knew it was wrong for them to even consider this, if for no other reason than because they owed it to the wizarding world to preserve their heritage. To try to hold their world together. But the days crept by, and true to form, Lucius simply went along with it.

Lucius Malfoy was a coward, and always had been.

Every day, he expected a letter from Hermione explaining that she had changed her mind. That she would not go through with it. Perhaps that it had all been part of an elaborate revenge against them, for all their crimes against her. Instead, she came and gave them ‘lessons’.

They were an exercise in futility at best, and a waste of their precious time at worst, but Draco enjoyed them, Narcissa was thriving, and he had to admit that he enjoyed the relief from his solitude. His contribution to these discussions about muggle life mainly consisted of sarcastic jibes, and he found himself woefully ignorant even compared to Draco. But none of them laughed at him, and it felt good to be a part of something again.

Within a few days, Hermione Granger had become such a permanent fixture at the Manor that there was often no point in her going home.

* * *

  
  
Lucius was enjoying a late breakfast in the light-soaked conservatory with Hermione when he first noticed the difference.

It was _quiet_. Blessedly so. Once he had registered it, the silence practically rang in his ears. He put down his cup.

“Hermione, where are the portraits?”

To her credit, the wild-haired Gryffindor did not flinch from the question. “I thought you would have noticed before now. I put them all in the cellar this morning.”

_Put them where?!_

“Did you really?” There was an edge to his voice that he hadn’t heard for a long time. “And what gave you the right to do such a thing?” He sighed at the look on her face. He did not want to fight her. “Never mind. You will put them up again as soon as you’ve finished breakfast, and we’ll say no more of it.”

Truthfully, he relished the peace and quiet. Days of screaming and howling, always at the edge of his hearing, had been driving him mad. Still, the fact remained; this was their house as much as it was his. The portraits were Malfoys, after all. At least, the approximations of them.

“Did the portraits enjoy having Voldemort here?” She asked suddenly.

He frowned at her poor choice of subject. “I suppose some of them did.” He had been too concerned with keeping himself and his family alive to ask.

She nodded slowly. “I thought they would have liked him. Every time I walk through the door, I can feel them glaring at me. They call me names whenever I’m alone.” She feigned a nonchalant shrug, but the undercurrent of pain was clear in her voice. “I’m used to it, but all the noise was too distracting.”

His anger at her presumptuous behaviour vanished. Call her names, did they?

He chose his words carefully. “I have often observed that the air at this time of year wreaks havoc on delicate woodwork and oil paint.” The witch blinked in confusion as he reached for the teapot, feeling a peace that he had not felt for a long time. “Perhaps some time belowground might do them some good.”

Lucius had almost finished his cup when he realised that Hermione had gone very quiet. He glanced up curiously.

“Hermione,” he said very, very gently, “It is impolite to stare.”

She jerked her head away quickly. A scarlet blush crept up her neck.

* * *

  
  
He and Narcissa would not be husband and wife in the new world. The decision was mutual and hurt neither of them.

In his Howlers to them, the Obliviator insisted that they, more than any other client he had ever had, had allowed an immense part of their identity to become entwined with their names. To safeguard the shared delusion, they would have to take new ones. And quite aside from that, Hermione seemed convinced that their true names would only invite ridicule in the Muggle world.

Narcissa decided on the name Natalie. The witch embraced their new future with an ease that astonished him, researching muggle culture and abandoning her prejudices and preconceptions like a snake shedding old skin. He found that he could not really hold it against her. Narcissa had always been a survivor. It was entirely likely that she saw the muggle world as little more than a new frontier to dominate.

Draco would take the name David. Lucius hated it with a passion. He resented the very idea of his son changing his name, and spoke out against it at every opportunity. Draco smothered all of his objections with three square meals a day and casual remarks about all the muggle sporting games they could frequent together in the new world. His snide replies about the failings of muggle sports were ruthlessly ignored. Soon enough, Lucius did not even grumble at the name anymore. He knew it would get him nowhere.

Hermione had decided to keep her first name and relinquish her surname. She refused to see the hypocrisy of holding onto the past when this whole idea had been hers.

As for himself, he refused to give up that final battle until the evening before their ‘appointment’ with the Obliviator. Since every name sounded ridiculous to him other than the one his parents had given him, he was determined to keep it.

“You don’t seem like the sort of person who would enjoy being laughed at by muggles for the rest of your life, Lucius.” Hermione said lightly from behind her book. “I’m only trying to help.” She was curled up in the great crimson armchair beside the fireplace that had become, by unspoken rule, hers.

He snorted. “I think I can make my own decisions without your assistance, Ms Granger.”

His sarcasm did not faze her in the slightest. No more than her attempts to use his pride against him offended him.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, she turned over her page with a little sigh. “Why not Luke? It’s close enough to Lucius, and it won’t make you sound like a _complete_ idiot.”

And so it was decided. Lucius would be known as Luke.

* * *

  
  
Draco had insisted on one last race around the Manor on broomstick before their appointment. It was snowing far too heavily for such a contest to be safe, but Draco was vehement. This was their last morning as themselves, after all. Their last chance to renew the tradition that years of negligence and resentment had strangled. All things considered, Lucius found he could not refuse.

Not ten minutes later, father and son made for the grounds with brooms in hand. The witches led the way.

His heart started to race with excitement despite his misgivings as he turned his mind to the race at hand. He was a skilled flyer, and he had flown these grounds for some forty years. Draco was young and had the better broom, but he thought his chances were good.

He and Draco shook hands. The women wished them luck and placed their bets with hushed voices. The broom rose at the brush of his fingers and within moments he was ten feet in the air, then twenty. Even at this height, the wind was vicious.

He looked down and saw the women silhouetted against the snow. One stood with effortless poise and calm. The other jumped up and down and cheered exuberantly, but he could not hear whose name she was calling. Then she was swallowed by the sleet and he could see almost nothing; just a white haze and the occasional shadow of a skeletal tree.

Then he heard a great bang and the world lit up as Hermione and Narcissa’s magic split the sky. The race had begun! He could hardly see a thing, but he did not need to. He knew the grounds by heart.

He leaned forward and thought of nothing other than flight, and the cold clawing at his face, and the sound of his son’s laughter carried to him in snatches by the wind.

The race lasted only minutes. Neither of them would ever know who won. There was no visibility, and if the witches knew who the victor was, they did not say. And perhaps that was for the best.

Draco and Lucius touched down and were immediately overwhelmed by the joy of the witches. Narcissa wrapped Draco up in a great blanket she had conjured from somewhere and Hermione was mad with praise for both of them.

“Go and warm up, all of you.” Narcissa said firmly. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

As the three of them made haste across the lawns, Lucius summoned up his nerve and threw his arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco did not flinch away. His heart constricted inside his chest, and he thought that disappointing generations of his family and being the mockery of the whole wizarding world might even be worth it, if only because it had earned his son’s forgiveness.

The knowledge was sweet, and all the sweeter for knowing that it would not be his for long.

* * *

  
  
Lucius said his goodbyes to his parents portraits as best he could, and made his final excuses to all the rest.

He dressed as though for burial. All black, and his very best. He was just about to leave the dressing room when he saw it, safely encased behind enchanted glass.

The coat was black. The cuffs were silver-trimmed, and the lapel studded with black diamonds. It had been worn by his great-great grand-father on his way to seduce a Queen, or so the family legend told. He had always wanted to try it on.

Why not? If he was going to exile himself into inferiority for the rest of his days, he wanted to take some style with him.

At his gesture, his elf helped him into it. The weight of it on his shoulders was strangely comforting. It felt like armour.

His cane he left on the desk in his favourite study, with his wand still sheathed inside it. More than anything, it was _the_ Malfoy heirloom. He would not sully it by taking it with him into the muggle world.

As he descended the staircase, Draco greeted him with a smirk, Narcissa with a fond smile.

“Oh no.” Hermione said, carrying only a handbag slung over her shoulder. “You _must_ be joking.”

“I take these events very seriously, I assure you.”

“Lucius, we’re going to a muggle city, not a museum.”

“Thank you for that little gem of insight, Ms Granger.”

“No-one is going to believe you’re a normal person. They’ll put you in a- a-”

“I said, _thank you_ , Ms Granger!”

* * *

  
  
Hermione Granger strode down Diagon Alley as though she were a hundred feet tall. Like a pack of thieves, the Malfoys crept along in her wake. No one dared do anything more than stare and grumble, and even then, only when the Hero of the Age was safely out of earshot.

She waited for them all to make their way inside the windowless shop, then followed and locked the door behind them.

The Obliviator stood waiting. The silence was nauseating. None of them could bring themselves to make smalltalk. Even Narcissa was a trifle pale.

It was time.

The Obliviator raised his wand (a pale and spindly thing, it reminded Lucius of a knife, more than anything) with a smile. “Who will go first?”

Hermione shifted forward, courageous as always, but Narcissa put a warning hand on her shoulder. Protective to a fault.

He knew that Narcissa had every right to be concerned. This magic was scarcely a year old.

“I will.” Lucius heard himself say as though from a great distance. He tried to project confidence at his family. At Hermione. “If the magic does not work, you must not follow me.”

“No need to be so dramatic, Lucius.” Hermione said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

The Obliviator ushered him into a chair. He was grateful that he would not be expected to stand.

The Obliviator raised his wand and murmured into his ear, “If you’ve had a change of heart, now is the time.”

Lucius steeled himself. He kept his eyes on Draco.

The wand brushed his temple and began to glow, and his heart drummed a mad beat in his chest. “It’s going to be alright, son.” Whiteness bled into his vision until he could not see a thing, but still he managed, “It doesn’t hurt. It’s going to be-”

The whiteness reached into his skull, and swallowed him.

* * *

  
  
Luke opened his eyes.

He stood in a twisting, cobblestone street. A virtual ocean of people teemed around him; screaming and laughing and yelling at one another. It was pandemonium.

Beside him stood a middle aged, elegantly dressed woman and a young man with a shock of platinum hair. They stood as if frozen in time, their faces fixed in expressions of mild surprise. He was sure that he had never seen them before. A brief panic seized him as he realised that he had never seen _anyone_ before. He could not remember so much as a single familiar face.

Then the facts slotted themselves into his brain with such expert precision that he did not even notice it happening. The woman was his ex wife. Natalie. A lioness in conflict, and a firm friend in times of need. The young man was his son. David. The knowledge shocked him. How could he have forgotten David?

In front of them, similarly frozen, stood a young woman. She was perhaps his son’s age. His first instinct was to leave her there and take his family out of this madness, but it seemed imperative that they all remain together.

He began to remember. Hermione. Brilliant, vivacious, deeply principled. Years worth of dinners, birthdays and Christmases flowed into his mind. She and David had gone to school together as children and had maintained a firm friendship even now. She had sent the family flowers and homemade food when his father had passed. The gesture had touched him deeply.

It was odd, because he had known Hermione for such a long time. But he had the unshakeable feeling that he was seeing her in a new light. A slender woman with wildly curling hair and chocolate eyes. Her attire was business-like, her features were profoundly lovely, but all sharp lines. She had no superfluous touches to her.

He watched the confusion bleed out of her. She had remembered him, though he had already forgotten remembering her.

Her smile was warm and inescapably charming as she looked up at him. “Hello, Luke.” She said.

A glow spread through his chest. “Hello, Hermione.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on this series:
> 
> This is the first of a series of one-shots I have planned. So far, Storge is the only one finished. Agape is about 5k long and will be the next one released. After that, Eros. Eros is only 1k long so far, so expect it to take a long while yet! 
> 
> And as for Storge in particular... The plan was to smash this little one-shot out over a weekend to ease myself back into writing. Instead it’s a good solid five thousand words longer than it was ever meant to be, it took ages, and it was damn hard. It also had a lot more ‘fluff’ than I had initially planned on, so I’m sorry if that does not appeal to you. 
> 
> I know that my characterisation of Lucius is a little different than usual, but I watched Deathly Hallows recently and he just sort of flowed out like this. 
> 
> If you’re here because you read Across A Crowded Room, please rest assured that I found an editor for the last chapter and will be starting on it as soon as I’m back from my holiday. I’m sorry about how long it’s taken. 
> 
> If you have questions, comments, criticisms, please voice them. I hope you enjoyed it! I would be eternally grateful for any and all reviews. They give me life. 
> 
> To my betas, all my love and gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


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